Hannah and the Highlander (25 page)

He rubbed his palm over the back of his scalp. “Fine,” he said, a low grumble. He shoved several items into his saddlebags.

Unease trickled through her. “Are you going somewhere?” she asked.

His glance, twined with surprise and pain, shocked her. “Ye doona know?”

Her stomach soured at his bleak tone. “Know?”
Know what?

“There have been … troubles in Reay. Yer husband is sending me back, along with his brother and more men.”

“Troubles?” Her blood went cold. “What kind of troubles?”

Rory flushed. “Maybe ye should ask your husband.”

“Maybe I shall.” She whirled on her heel and stormed back to the castle, anger making the back of her neck prickle. If Alexander had heard something—anything—from Reay, she should be the first to know of it. Not the last.

Fergus was the first unfortunate soul she spotted. He was bustling through the foyer as she entered. “Where is he?” she barked.

Fergus froze and stared at her, eyes wide.

“He, my lady?”

“Where is Dunnet?” Who the hell else would she be looking for?

Fergus twined his fingers and cleared his throat. His eyes flicked hither and yon. “My lady … His Lordship is … busy right n—”

“I doona give a good goddamn if he is busy or not. Where is he?” Her snarl echoed through the hall.

Fergus had the good sense to blanch. “My lady—”

“Where. Is. He?”

“In the great hall, my lady.”

The great hall?
Where was that? She searched her memory, but it failed her. “Take me there.”

“But—”

“Now.”

To his credit, he did, although Hannah could tell he was reluctant to do so. He slumped, like a dog with his tail between his legs, dragging his feet with every step.

Hannah heard the bustle before they reached the room. The shifting of many feet, the clink of weapons … and her husband's booming voice. “Andrew will oversee the defenses. Hamish, the investigation. And I want daily reports, do you understand?”

Oh, certainly he could speak to
them
. This only made her angrier.

She burst into the room and silence fell like a boom. Twenty-five men, all outfitted for travel into a battle zone, turned to stare at her. But she had eyes for one man only. Her husband.

And those eyes, they blazed. “What the hell is going on?” she snapped.

He whipped around and stared at her. His mouth opened. Then closed. “Hannah…” he finally managed.

“What the hell is going on? Is it true that you received a message from Reay?”

“A-aye.”

“And you didn't tell me?”

Energy crackled between them. Alexander glanced at his men and she knew what he was thinking.
Not in front of my men.
She didn't care.

“How dare you? How dare you keep this from me? Reay is
my
land.”

“Hannah—”

“What is it? What is going on? I deserve to know.” She knew her demand was shrill, but the anger and the panic and the worry for her family, for her people, overcame her.

Her brother-in-law stepped forward, holding out his hands, as though that simple gesture could calm her down. “Another croft was burned down.”

Hannah's stomach clenched. Her pulse raced. “Which one?”

Andrew shrugged and Hannah nearly smacked him. Of course he wouldn't know. No one knew, no one cared, as she did. “And there was…”

His hesitation made her knees knock. “There was what?” Despite her vehemence, he didn't answer. He glanced at Alexander.

Her husband stepped closer, slowly, as though approaching a wild animal, which, frankly, she felt like. He made a soothing sound and set his hands on her shoulders. “There's been … an attempt on your father's life.”

Thank God Alexander was holding her, else she would have collapsed. Her breath caught. Her heart clenched. A silent wail rang through her head. “I … Is he…?”

“He's fine.” Alexander bussed her brow. “He's fine. They caught the villain.”

A howl of panic whipped through her like a winter wind. Her father in danger. Her sister, dear, sweet Isobel. If she'd been there, this would not have happened. She was certain of it. Determination coiled in her gut. “I'm going home.” She whirled to leave.

Alexander stopped her with a hand to her arm. “Nae.”

She attempted to pull away but couldn't. She frowned at him. “I must go. I have to protect them.”
Dear God, no one else could.

“You must … stay.” Alexander tucked a curl behind her ear. In another circumstance, she would have found that charming. Now she just wanted to slap his hand away. “My men will protect them.”

Andrew grinned, although it was an anemic offering. “Our men are verra good at what they do.”

Hannah glared at him and then swung back to glare at her husband. Somewhere, beneath the worry for her family, there was a deeper fear. She hated the fact that he hadn't bothered to share this with her. They'd just been together. Surely he'd known then. But he'd said nothing. He'd promised to be her
partner
, for pity sake. A bitter taste filled her mouth. “You should have told me,” she hissed.

“I dinna want to … worry you.”

“Worry me? These are my people, Dunnet. My life. I deserve to know. I deserve to be included in the discussion, in the decision. You canna keep everything to yourself.”

His throat worked, but he said nothing more.

And aye, he probably would not.

Ever.

It rained down on her then, the fruitlessness of her hope that they could ever be partners. The hopelessness of wanting more with him.

It wasn't only that her husband wasn't a
bletherer
or that words were a challenge for him. This was something more. Something deeper.

He didn't want to share anything with her. He didn't see the need.

That was the desolation that gripped her, tore at her.

How could she have a real marriage with a man who thought her too frail, too stupid, too worthless, to handle anything?

Her heart formed a hard ball in her chest. Without another word she turned and swept from the room.

 

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

The door was locked.

He should have expected as much, but it still surprised him when Alexander tried the knob to her bedroom and found it wouldn't budge.

He'd never seen a woman so angry. Or hurt. The wounded look in her eyes had confounded him.

He should have followed her when she left the great hall. He should have found her then and soothed her, tried to explain.

But the men had been waiting for orders. There had been much to arrange before he sent them off.

And what, really, was there to explain?

He'd made the decision not to tell her about the letter, at least until he'd made all the necessary arrangements. He hadn't wanted to worry her. He hadn't wanted to have to form the words until it was absolutely necessary.

So he hadn't.

Cowardly of him?

Perhaps.

He hoped it hadn't cost him everything. Everything he'd been trying so hard to build with her.

Softly he knocked on the door. “Hannah?”

No response.

He knocked again. “Hannah, let me in.”

Nothing.

He tried knocking louder. That worked … after a fashion. He heard a rustling on the other side of the door. “Hannah, please. We need to talk.”

A snort.

“Hannah.” He attempted a commanding timbre. This succeeded in bringing her closer. He heard the shuffle of her feet, felt her presence as she stood on the other side of a wooden barrier. But it was more than a wooden barrier, wasn't it?

It was a chasm.

“I'm sorry.”

Another snort. More of a grunt.

“Won't you let me in?”

“What's the point?”

His heart leaped at the sound of her voice, until her words sank in. And her tone. It was desolate. Damp. As though on a sob. “Please. Let me explain.”

“Go away.”

“I willna.” He stiffened his spine. “I will stay here all night long.”

Silence. And then a muttered, “Good.”

“Hannah Lochlannach, let me in.”

“You should have told me.”

“I … know.” Damn, it was hard, admitting it. To her. Through a door.

“My father was in danger, for pity sake.”

“He's fine now. And Andrew is going to protect him.”

“I should be there.”

“I … need you. Here.” He did. That was the harsh truth of it. He couldn't bear to let her go, and certainly not into harm's way. They had caught the villain who had tried to poison Magnus, but Andrew's quest was to ferret out any others and to bolster defenses. “Hannah. Please.”

“Go away, Dunnet. I doona want to talk to you,” she growled through the door. His gut clenched when she used his title. He was no longer Alexander to her. He was Dunnet. The laird. The thought crushed him. He'd never felt as utterly alone as he did at this moment.

Although, if he was being honest, he could hardly blame her.

She was probably right to be angry with him.

It was a pity he had no idea how to make things right with her.

With a sigh, he plodded back to his cold and empty room.

And it
was
cold and empty. Because hell, she'd taken his dog.

*   *   *

As silence fell on the other side of the door, Hannah threaded her fingers through Brùid's thick fur. He gave a little whine and snuffled at the door, although they both knew, with cold clarity, Alexander was gone.

He'd left. He'd taken her at her word and left.

A ribbon of regret wove its way through her. Maybe she should have opened the door. Maybe she should have spoken to him, but she was far too furious. So furious, she was afraid of what she might say.

It was better this way.

She needed some time to grapple with the emotions roiling through her, the worry for her family, the anger at her husband, and the sheer frustration with the entire situation.

Still, it crushed her that he'd left. And so soon.

Maybe he really didn't care.

Maybe there was no hope for them.

She couldn't let herself think on it.

Instead she closeted herself with her sister in her brown room—oddly, now the color was fitting; at least it fit her mood. She summoned Senga and had her bring up a dinner Hannah didn't eat. Then, after railing to Lana until her voice was worn out, she curled up in her bed with his dog and cried herself to sleep.

*   *   *

Alexander stood before the great double doors to the library, his hand hovering over the knob. His heart pounded and his palms were damp. He hated this room. Hated it with a seething passion.

It was filled with horrible memories, so much so that Alexander had not darkened the door for years.

But today he needed something from this room, wanted it enough to brave the shadows of his youth.

Redemption.

It occurred to him that if he wanted to appease his wife the gift of a book might do. The library—if memory served—was filled with them, although Dermid had never so much as cracked a spine.

The past few days had been sheer hell. Not only had it been very difficult sending his brother away—although he trusted no one more with the mission to protect Dounreay—but also Hannah had locked him out, out of her life, her heart, her bedroom. He'd tried everything—flowers, gifts, letters. Nothing had worked. She'd returned the letters in shreds. His flowers had not fared much better. Braving the library was his last hope.

A shudder passed through him. Now that he was here, poised on the threshold, he found the old trepidation creeping in.

It was ridiculous for a grown man to feel the scuttle of fear … for a room. It was only a room—a room in his
home
—but it was a room that held secrets and memories and a hint of horror.

He'd sworn to forget it, block it out. Overcome the past, but that was easier said than done. Entering this room, facing his ghosts, would be an excellent step in that direction.

He supposed.

“Are you going in there?”

Alexander started as a soft lilt intruded on his deep contemplation; he glanced down. His wife's sister Lana stood at his side gazing up at him. She looked nothing like Hannah. Lana's hair was a gossamer froth and her eyes were a bright and shining blue, slightly unfocused. She was a tiny thing with delicate bones, of reserved nature, and maybe even a little fey—given to flights of fancy about puppies and dead cooks—but she was his bride's sister. It behooved him to befriend her. She might just be able to help him with his quest to win Hannah's forgiveness.

He tendered a bow. “Miss Dounreay.”

She folded her fingers and peered up at him with a sharp gaze. He had the sense she was examining his soul. It was probably silly to be relieved when her lips quirked. “Your Lordship.” And then, “Well? Are you? Going in?”

“I, ah, was going to.”

“You've been standing here quite some time. And glaring.”

Surely he'd not been glaring.

She waved at the door. “What room is this?”

“The library.”

Her eyes widened. “Fergus said it was expressly off-limits.”

He tugged down his shirt and grumbled, “I am the laird.”

“So you are.”

“I can go in if I like.”

She tipped her head to the side. “So … are you going in?”

“Ah. Aye. I was … hoping to find a … gift for Hannah.”

Lana's eyes danced. “She would like that.”

“She's … rather upset with me.”

A snort, but Lana softened it with a smile. “So I heard. You really should keep her apprised of the goings-on.” And then she added, as though in afterthought, “My laird.”